


Jamison Fawkes

by Ghost_Writing



Series: Overwatch One Shots and Drabbles [11]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Roadhog | Mako Rutledge gives the best hugs, THREE IN THE MORNING, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25179040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_Writing/pseuds/Ghost_Writing
Summary: There are two sides to Jamison Fawkes. Junkrat; the one he shows everyone. And Jamison; the one that only Mako's seen. However, no matter how many times he's seen it, Jamison has yet to explain to him how it feels.Until one night when he attempts to coax Jamison to sleep.
Relationships: Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Roadhog | Mako Rutledge
Series: Overwatch One Shots and Drabbles [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732453
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	Jamison Fawkes

“YOU JUST DON’T GET IT, DO YOU?!” The deafening screech sounded throughout the whole abandoned gas station. It rang off of walls as Mako flinched from the sudden noise, his hand quickly back at his side.

There are two sides to Jamison Fawkes. 

He was bubbly around everyone, light-hearted and carefree, always talking their ears off and laughing. The side he showed to everyone. The side that pulled jokes on missions and giggled while explaining the plans to Mako for the thirty-second time that hour. That side was fondly known as Junkrat.

Then… there is Jamison. Clutching his ears at night as he screamed over top of his mind. Blowing up concussion mines just barely far enough away so they’d make his ears ring and his mind go clear for a few moments. The side that blared music at top volume, headphones or not, as he tinkered at something to keep his mind busy. 

The side that was standing in front of Mako right now, his hands clenched in the hair above his ears with his eyes screwed shut and watery as he tried to curl away. It’s currently three in the morning, and Mako interrupted his work to get him to sleep.

Jamison terrified him. Not because he was frustrated and easily startled. Mako could handle that part. But to see his boyfriend pull out his hair, blow bombs up next to himself, chug alcohol until it numbed him, just to escape his own mind. That part scared him. Because he couldn’t help. He didn’t know-how. 

They’d stopped for the night in an abandoned gas station. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the open. Mako had pulled the motorcycle into the main part of the station and tinkered away at it. Jamison found the small breakroom and set up his shop. Both worked quietly away from each other. 

It was their routine, a small signal that let Mako know Jamison had let his guard down. He’d had hours to prepare, yet he couldn’t. There was no preparing for a storm you couldn’t comprehend. Mako’s hands opened and closed, trying to figure out how to help. Jamison crumpled to the floor in front of his eyes, clutching the sides of his head tight enough to leave bruises. 

“You don’t understand…” he mutters, his heart in his ears as his eyes remained. He knew how bad this looked. How awful he must make him feel to have to put up with this. 

Mako swallowed, crouching down slowly in front of him. He sat cross-legged, putting a safe distance between the two of them.  
“Then explain it. You’ve boxed yourself up ever since I met you. Just let me in,” he whispered, reaching forwards and cupping Jamison’s cheek.

Jamison stared back at him with wide eyes, tears pooled in the corners. Mako held his gaze for a moment, the vulnerability displayed in his eyes. He could see the storm of thoughts brewing behind the pupils, he knew that storm. He witnessed that storm many nights. 

Then Jamison turned his head away.  
“If I tell you, you’ll just leave,” Jamison stood up, Mako’s hand dropping from his face, “That’s fine. If you want to go, you’re free to go.”

Jamison turned around, clutching his arms to his chest as he stared out through the shattered window of the breakroom at the wasteland outside. Behind his mask, Mako’s lips dropped to a frown. He stood up from his spot.

“I’m not leaving Jamie. I might not understand, but nothing you say will drive me away,” he stated plainly, stepping forwards a little bit.

“What if I told you that every time things fall quiet I run through every scenario in my mind. The good ones, the bad ones… the awful ones. That countless worlds exist in my mind. That I remember everyone from my past, the one’s I’ve killed and their graves, the one’s who I’ve used and have used me… the ones I’ve loved. But that’s not even the half of it!” 

Tears streaked down his cheeks. He was never one to stop talking once he started, and he could use every word in the world and it would never explain how he felt. 

“I can’t stop it. Nothing quiets it down! It’s tearing through me like a hurricane and I can’t find the way out! I’m caught dead center and every time I try and move towards something quiet, the hurricane swallows me whole. Every god damn thing someone says is repeated over and over until it becomes negative. Even when I’m sleepin’ next to ya I can’t stop thinkin’ how you must hate me!” 

Mako’s hand reached up, not towards Jamison, but to the mask on his face. He unclipped the straps, setting it down on the table Jamison had been working on. Jamison tensed at the sound of the clips, not knowing the exact source of the sound.

“Some times I just want to lock myself somewhere, hide away from you. I’m going to hurt ya one day, and I won’t mean to. I’ll say something to ya and you’ll just walk out that damn door and leave me here to die. I’d scream after you, but I can never get the god damn words out!”

Heavy hands reached forwards, wrapping around Jamison’s torso and pulling his back flush against Mako’s front. Mako was bigger than him, heavier than him, stronger than him… warmer than him. Jamison couldn’t struggle away if he wanted to, but, he didn’t want to. There was a soft comfort that Mako provided that Jamison could never find anywhere else. Something that calmed the hurricane to a rainstorm.

“It’s just thoughts. Even if you told me you hated me, I wouldn’t leave,” Mako mumbled into his shoulder, holding onto Jamison as if he’d disappear if he let go.  
“I’d give anything to stop that hurricane in your mind.”

Something inside Jamison broke from those words. Like a coil that had been tightening and tensing over years and years finally snapped violently, thrashing against his chest and skull as it rapidly unwound.

He crumpled down in Mako’s arms, forcing the larger man to drop to the floor with him. Carefully, Mako loosened his arms, allowing Jamison to turn himself around and rest his head against his chest. A gentle hand ran up and down Jamison’s back as large tears rolled down his cheeks. 

Mako mumbled soft words, leaning against the counter behind him as the two of them sat in distilled silence. 

“I feel like I’m broken some days… most days,” Jamison croaked out, trying to wipe his eyes only for the tears to remain. 

“You’re not broken,” Mako mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

Jamison yawned, his mouth opening wide as he screwed his eyes shut. He slumped against Mako’s chest.  
“Sure as hell feels like it…” he muttered, catching Mako’s hand and running his fingers over the details to stay awake.

“You’re tired. You always get worse when you’re tired,” Mako states softly, standing up. He carefully keeps his arms around Junkrat to carry him. The smaller man seems to have no quarrel to this idea as Mako lumbers through the gas station to the make-shift bed they formed in the manager’s office. 

“Maybe I am… Maybe you’re right,” Jamison admits as Mako closes the door behind them. It creaks loudly throughout the room. He sets his mask down on the desk and Jamison down on the two pushed together couches. 

A water bottle is offered to Jamison. He gulps it down.

“I’m right, but you don’t have to admit it,” he grunts, taking the empty bottle from Jamison. He tosses it in the trash can as if they’re average people living average lives that rely on trash-disposal services instead of two junkers in a post-apocalyptic gas station. 

Jamison offers him a small smile as he shuffles to the side to allow Mako to sit down in the ‘bed’. Mako ruffles Jamison’s hair gently when he’s settled and Jamison quickly clambers to the peak of Mako’s stomach, collapsing across it. 

He’s so exhausted that everything’s gone silent now, just the simple pulse of Mako’s heart and their soft breathes.

Mako’s almost certain that Jamison is asleep. He waits for a few moments… or maybe it’s minutes? They don’t really have clocks out here anymore. Then he whispers something softly, his eyes closed.  
“Love ya, Jamie.”

Jamison flushes gently, though Mako can’t see it in the darkroom with his head turned away from him.  
“I love ya,” Jamison mumbles back, lacing his fingers with Makos.

A deep blush spreads across his face. He didn’t expect a response. He’d never said those words to Jamison’s face unless he was asleep. He didn’t want to overwhelm him. Didn’t want to cross lines.

Yet here he was. Falling asleep in an abandoned gas station, with Jamison on top of his stomach, whispering words he’d never thought he’d say again to a man he met three months ago. 

Guess an apocalypse really does change people.

**Author's Note:**

> Mildly shorter than my usual fics, but I needed to quickly vent/write something. 
> 
> If you like my work, consider checking out other stories, subscribing to my account, dropping a comment or leaving a kudos!


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